by Jenn LeBlanc
He reached up and grasped a tendril of her hair, smoothing it between his fingers. “Tis a warm, rich color,” he said softly.
She smiled. Mother-number-three always said it was the color of Kansas wheat at harvest, she signed.
His fingers stilled as he looked at her. “Kansas—in the colonies? What would you be doing there?”
Her chin dropped and turned away as she realized her error. Then, thinking about his statement, she became defensive. “I was never there, but I believe they prefer to be referred to as the United States of America,” she whispered sternly.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said with a chuckle. “Kansas wheat must be a sight. I would have likened it more to a blonde than your brunette color,” he said as he smiled wryly.
Centuries pass and still the grudge? she signed.
“It’s a family grudge, far be it for me to let it lie. What of this ‘mother-number-three’? Did the nuns in the convent not have names?”
She laughed, trying hard to stifle it, to no avail. Well, she signed finally, they do all dress alike.
His head fell back as booming laughter broke loose from his chest. It sent a shiver through her. He reached for another strawberry and she signed, I have sisters? He poured a little more honey mead into her glass, dropping the strawberry to the bottom, and told her about the eldest sister and the two younger ones that were also now wards of his brother. She could tell he didn’t go into everything they had learned about M. Larrabee and her betrothed, Lord Hepplewort.
Carole walked back into the meadow with a small basket filled with dark berries, and Gideon and Francine stood. The servant swept up the remains of the picnic in the blanket, securing it to her saddle as he checked the horses.
Francine waited patiently with Delilah, but Gideon took the mare by the rein and led her to Kalliope, fastening her to the back of the saddle.
Francine looked up at him, confused.
“We shouldn’t test you overmuch. That was quite a ride.” He held his hand out to her.
She walked over and he swept her up astride Samson, then in one lithe movement he mounted the horse behind her. She drew in a sharp breath as his body settled closely to her, his chest pushing against her back and the feel of him sending a chill across her skin.
He reached around her, grasping the rein and turning the horse toward the stables as Carole followed.
He pushed Samson into a trot, bouncing them gently together, creating a warm friction. Then he leaned into her as he urged Samson to a gallop. Francine sank back into his sinewy frame, resting her hands on his thighs, reveling at the smooth movement of the muscles beneath his skin. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, feeling the rush of air as it hit her face and stole her breath. His muscles tensed and hardened behind her, moving with her.
She sighed. It was heavenly.
He slowed the horse to a walk.
She could have easily been lulled to sleep. She reached up, stroking his defined jaw, then put her hands on the pommel. “Hepplewhatsit,” she whispered, before she realized she’d spoken aloud.
“Shh,” he said. “I already warned you about speaking.” He paused. “Hepplewort.”
“Betrothed?” she whispered against his jaw.
“You really are tempting a dragon, my lady,” he said, laughing. “Yes, betrothed. I believe you tried to get away from him, and he set his hounds—” He stopped and she looked up, trying to see his face.
“No!” His face paled. “Lilly,” he whispered. “Why did I not see this? We need to get back to the manor.” He took off for the paddock, yelling for Davis. Her hands tightened on his thighs as they ran and she couldn’t help but to smile, even with the concern she’d heard laced through his voice.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Davis answered, running from the stable toward the field. Gideon halted a few feet away, jumping down and pulling Francine with him.
“Watch for Carole, she’s just over the rise.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“As soon as Carole gets here, I want you to ready the carriage.”
“Your Grace, Grover and Gentry have the carriage to Kelso, but they should be returning soon. Should I prepare your curricle?”
“Damn it all!” Gideon cursed. His voice overwhelmed the meadow and Davis jumped at the sound. “No, thank you, Davis. It’s much too far for the curricle and I don’t yet trust the mares.”
Francine paled. She had never seen him so angry, but she wasn’t as much terrified as she was worried for him. She tried to reach for him, but he was unaware.
“Let me know as soon as they arrive, and switch the horses if they need rest,” he said finally.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Davis replied shakily as he took Samson. Gideon turned and strode toward the manor, tugging Francine behind him as she squealed in surprise.
Perry and Shaw followed the passage down to the kitchen and called for Stapleton.
“Stapleton, in the passage behind the family suites we have opened a room.” Perry saw Stapleton frown, but went on. “I have left the panel open. I would appreciate it if, carefully, you could have some men remove the window covers and clean the windows. Perhaps you could also have the fabric panels removed for cleaning, though I’m not sure they are in good enough condition to retain. I suppose the servants will figure that out when they pull them down.”
Stapleton nodded and left the kitchen.
Perry saw Chef glaring at the filthy intruders in her workspace, so he and Shaw turned and also left the kitchen.
They strolled outside and gazed up at the manor. “It should have been obvious. Look how dark they are,” Shaw said.
“Yes, but they are also above the orangery, out of the way of a more direct line of sight.” Perry wanted a better view and turned to walk farther away from the manor, then stopped. Gideon was pulling Francine briskly behind him, his face carved in anger. Perry frowned, then ran into the manor to meet him, leaving Shaw staring after.
“There’s probably no way to prove it was him,” Perry said wearily. “Rox—”
“What?” Gideon asked, looking up at his brother from the other side of the desk.
“I said... We probably won’t be able to prove it was him,” Perry repeated to his brother, who was quite obviously not paying attention.
“Yes, I know. I was just trying to think of something. Anything. He shouldn’t be able to get away with what he did to Lilly and Francine. I won’t let him.”
“Gideon. We have to find out where Hepplewort is. Francine doesn’t remember anything, and what Lilly does— It puts them both in a great deal of danger. Lilly should be protected. If we could find him—”
“We have to meet with him, Perry. Or have you forgotten that you are required to break his contract with Larrabee?”
Perry appeared stunned. “Must you remind me? I was having such a nice afternoon.” He rubbed his hand back and forth across his jaw. “Rox, there is something else.” He paused, considering the timing, but then he shrugged. “I have something you should see.”
“Does it have something to do with your current dishevelment?”
Perry scowled as he stood, motioning for Gideon to follow. They walked into the first floor passageway, which was still well lit.
Gideon looked at the walls. “What the devil? I never—” He glanced at Perry.
“I don’t think any of us did. It is quite beautiful.” He ran his fingertips over the smooth patterns in the wood as he walked. They reached the open panel and Gideon stopped his brother with one hand on his shoulder.
“Wait—please.”
Perry nodded. “Of course.”
Gideon stepped over the threshold into the room, drawing his breath in sharply. The smell of the dust barely masked a scent which pulled memories from his head like the icy water that crashes over rapids. His mind spun through the recollections at a devil’s pace. His mother’s embrace, her soft secure arms, the clear green of her eyes, the way she always rescued him— He suddenly remembere
d all of it. Including when she hadn’t been able to rescue him anymore.
“I thought it was a dream,” he said quietly. He reached up to the panels, walking through the maze as the dust drifted like snow around him. Going to the bathtub, he sat at the edge and turned it on. The pipes shook, and a loud groan tore through the manor walls like the wheels of a freight train sliding on a rusty track.
Perry rushed toward him. “Rox, Shaw said we—”
Gideon waved his hand, cutting him off. Water poured from the pipe, brown and muddy at first, then clean and clear. He put his hand under it and looked up to his brother.
“I have been here before.” He turned and shut the water off. “This was our mother’s room.”
Perry stared around the room in awe. “Tell me,” he replied, sitting at the edge of the tub next to him. Gideon opened his mouth to start as Mrs. Weston rushed into the room.
“Oh, Your Grace, my lord, we heard a terrible noise belowstairs.”
Gideon looked at her apprehensively. “You knew of this room.”
“Aye, Your Grace, at one time. But it has been naught but a memory for many years. Your father, may he rest in peace, ordered it left. He built it for her, of course. And when she was taken... Well.” She looked down as she twisted her hands in her skirts. “He could not bear to remember,” she whispered in a faltering tone.
Gideon turned his gaze away. “Why was she taken?”
“Oh, Your Grace, you know the ans—”
“No, Weston, why exactly was she taken? She survived in the manor just fine, then one day she was gone. I want to know why my father didn’t want to put her up anymore.”
“No, Your Grace. It wasn’t like that.” Mrs. Weston paused, her eyes reddened from falling dust and threatening tears. “It was spring when she—left. She was so lovely in the spring. Ribbons in her hair, with fresh flowers from the gardens.” Mrs. Weston smiled, reminiscing. “I loved her, you know. She was like kin to me, as are the two of you.”
Gideon looked around and grabbed a cushioned chair, pulling it in front of the bathtub so Mrs. Weston could sit.
“Oh, no, Your Grace, I’m al—” He pointed at the chair with a lifted brow and she sat down. She sighed. “The window, the broken one. She used to open it and stand in the wind. She loved the breeze as it came up off the meadow. I would come to find her here, standing next to that window. Then that day, she crawled up into the window and was leaning...out.”
The brothers looked at each other, their faces mirrored images of tension. Mrs. Weston wept. “I do not know what happened, Your Grace. I was watching the breeze coming in, and the next thing I knew your father ran in and pulled her down,” she said as she cried. “She was distraught. She didn’t understand why he was upset. She wailed all night, for he blocked the panel so she couldn’t come in here. She wasn’t ever the same.”
Perry leaned forward. “Did she— Was she trying to kill herself?” he asked, the sound scarcely more than a breath.
“I don’t know, my lord. I wouldn’t think it. But your father, he believed it. And after that day, after he kept her out of here, she did try. So she was taken to Bedlam, Your Grace. He said it was to protect her from herself,” she whispered, looking directly at Gideon. Then she looked down, the wet lines of tears dividing her dust-covered face. They heard a sound behind her and Gideon stood, spying a figure through the silk fabrics.
“Francine,” he said as she pulled aside a panel.
Her mouth dropped open to form words, but no sound came out as they all waited. Tears streaked her dusty cheeks as the particles in the air irritated her eyes, making the color glow with a chimerical blue fire.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered.
He strolled toward her, and her face lifted to meet his when he stood in front of her. He took her face in his palms, smearing the lines of tears and pulling her to him. She put her hands around his waist, splayed across his lower back, and she leaned her head into his chest, tucking under his chin, breathing quietly as his hands held her tightly to him. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, unable to find better words.
“Shh.” He gently massaged her back with his wide hand. He took her face in his hands again and placed a kiss on her forehead, then turned to Perry and Mrs. Weston.
“You should go,” Perry said. “We shall be out in a moment.”
Gideon nodded, leading Francine from the room.
“Westy. This wasn’t your fault,” Perry said.
“Oh, my lord, I believe I know that. But I think, if I had been there—if I had protected her. I do not know, my lord. I just wish—” Perry put his hands on her shoulders and she peered up at him. “I am so sorry, my lord.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for.” He could see that she was entirely overtaxed. He stood and pulled her close for an embrace as he tried to think of a way to push the mood back toward the light and airy, away from the dark and dismal.
They quit the chamber, but Perry stopped her as she was headed downstairs. “Westy, I can’t bear to see you so worked up. Roxleigh has you running around here on pins and needles after his lady.”
She glanced back at him. “Tis true, my lord. He has given me charge of her. To see to her needs, and to make sure she is safe.”
“I do not want you to be responsible for her anymore.”
“Oh, my lord, have I—”
“No, Westy, nothing like that. I believe you have done a wonderful job attending her. I don’t like that you are over worried. I have watched Lady Francine, and I believe she is perfectly able to do as she pleases. Carole can attend her when necessary.”
Mrs. Weston turned away from him, wringing her hands. “My lord, I do like to attend her.”
He nodded. “Let me be clear then. You may tend her, for so long as you wish, but you answer to me now. Not to him. In all of her concerns, I am her guardian. That’s how it will be done. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord. What will I tell His Grace?”
“You won’t tell him anything. I will deal with him.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Weston curtseyed and moved to go belowstairs.
Perry returned to the chamber and looked around. He’d no memories of the soft, billowy panels. No memory of the tiled bathtub, the large cushioned bed covered with brightly colored pillows and inches of dust. The muted vibrancy of the dyes begged a beautiful memory that would not come. Had she ever brought him here? Or was it only Gideon who was part of her world?
Gideon escorted Francine into the private parlor and motioned for her to sit. He rang for Carole to chaperone; his brother’s newfound sense of responsibility and honor wasn’t something he meant to test anytime soon. Not that he believed he and Perry would find themselves at opposing ends of a rapier, but that his brother’s pride wasn’t something he wished to damage. When Carole arrived, Francine was on the settee and Gideon across from her in one of the chairs. He read to her from Wuthering Heights.
“Your Grace?” Carole said when he paused. “Grover and Gentry have returned from Kelso with the new governess. They only just arrived. I believe Davis is seeing to the carriage as you had requested.”
“Thank you, Carole. Please see to Lady Francine.” She nodded with a curtsey and he stood, turning back to Francine. “I must beg my leave. I need to interview the governess. I hope to see you for supper.”
Francine frowned. He reached for her hand and bowed as he kissed her wrist. “Good afternoon, my lady.”
Gideon walked out of the parlor and straight into his brother, who was just leaving the passageway.
“Francine?” Perry asked.
“She is in the parlor with Carole. She’s fine, just a bit surprised.”
“You never told her of our mother?”
“No. When would I have had the time?” Gideon changed the subject. “The carriage is here, but it’s a bit late to return to Kelso. We should interview the governess. Stapleton has her in the green parlor.”
“You mean the spring parlor, d
o you not?” Perry corrected, trying to lighten the mood.
Gideon glanced at him as they descended the stairs. “What?”
“Look at it. Everything about it says spring.”
“Bedding a designer?”
Perry laughed. “I would equate it more like courting disaster, which would be why the whole thing is over. Though I did get quite a nice sitting room out of it.”
Gideon smiled. Perry felt his brother’s disquiet and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Spring parlor, then?” Gideon asked with another half smile.
“By all means.”
Miss Emily Faversham waited in a soft green chair. She thought the parlor was wonderfully appointed in various hues of green: deep emerald, flower petal, grass, and moss, all surrounded by hues of cream and ivory. It reminded her of spring, with the thinly striped damask fabrics in cream and mint, bordered by emerald trims and pearl beading. The curtains were also quite lovely—the heavy emerald velvet drapes were pulled back, leaving light and airy cream alternating with flower-petal green panels of silk georgette to filter the sunlight into the room. She stood and paced in front of the windows, and then she sat, only to rise and pace again.
Her last appointment with the Tanvers had ended quite abruptly. She had expected at least to attend the youngest of the girls through her first Season, but they’d sent her home to Kelso. And just as unexpectedly, she was retrieved by the Duke of Roxleigh for a position. She had no idea for what position he would need her. The notorious recluse had no children or bride to bear them, unless his wife was even more reclusive, which was entirely doubtful. Someone would know of his marriage. Emily sat on the damask striped settee, holding an emerald green brocade pillow to her chest.
She didn’t want to be a nursemaid, or lady’s maid, or anything other than a governess. She loved to teach. She’d considered that her love of knowledge was what had ended her tenure with the Tanvers, but the girls had always sworn allegiance to her. They promised never to tell of their extensive lessons that most young women weren’t allowed, history and government among the most inappropriate of them. Sadly, a knowledgeable woman wasn’t a marriageable woman. And an unmarriageable woman was of no use to a blue blood, who only needed daughters to make good matches with other peers, thereby increasing the father’s rank and pull.
